


Turn Over The Table, And Walk Away

by Trivena_Butterfly



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Assassination, Assisted Suicide is the closest description but not quite right, Dark, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Revenge, Salt-the-earth tactics, Self-Sacrifice, Suicidal Thoughts, Tarvek's brilliant planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trivena_Butterfly/pseuds/Trivena_Butterfly
Summary: His sister is dead. Tarvek will destroy his father for this, and it will cost him everything.WARNING: read the tags. No, seriously. They're there for a very good reason.
Relationships: Anevka Sturmvoraus & Tarvek Sturmvoraus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Turn Over The Table, And Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to RoryMercury, Lua Aurelia, and Orion_Hunter for pre-reading and betaing.

“If you don’t like the rules… change the game.”

-Tarvek Sturmvoraus, Agatha Heterodyne and the Hammerless Bell

_Dear Martellus,_

_If you are reading this, your assassin succeeded. Congratulations on becoming the chief target for the entire family. Good luck; I am sure you will need it._

_Anevka is dead; I couldn’t save her. Father is responsible. His crimes were worse than I knew, and I cannot let him get away with it. Please ensure the enclosed reaches Baron Wulfenbach without delay; place it into his hands personally if possible._

\--⚔--

Sturmhalten was not what Malek would call an easy place to infiltrate. The two-hundred-year-old pile of rock was a terrible example of its period, one that in his considered opinion barely counted as architecture at all. A stony fortress on a mountain pass, it had been deliberately built to be difficult to access. A Smoke Knight, however, was not your typical invader, and what was difficult for an army, or even a single soldier in armor, was child’s play to one trained in the Way of Smoke.

No, it was the _interior_ that was difficult, with its cold passages and echoing halls. It was fortunate that the layout was no secret, with the blueprints comfortably available in the family archives; he could focus instead on avoiding the other Smoke Knights, the ones who _should_ be here, protecting the inhabitants. It was always awkward to run into a classmate while on the job, and even worse if you ended up having to kill them.

He reached the room he wanted with no trouble, fortunately. Better still, the door wasn’t even locked. _Sloppy_ , he thought to himself, _but not surprising_. The prince had scored terribly in every single class, possibly the worst student in generations to survive his training, and _that_ likely only because his father had pulled every possible string to keep his late wife’s only son alive.

Malek performed the standard checks for traps anyway; just because you’re not expecting something, doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and there had to be _something_. But no; there was nothing out of place at all. He ghosted through the door; the laboratory was sparkling, with not a trace of dust or even the slightest smear of grease on anything. Even the surface and brassy piping of the newly-built device, bulky and oblong, that occupied one end of the room was polished clean.

No personal Smoke Knight haunting the room, of course. His target hadn’t had one assigned for months now.

He froze at the feel of a blade touching his throat. “Who sent you?” a voice hissed in his ear. _How- nobody should have been able to get that close!_ “Prince Martellus!” he whispered back frantically; a Smoke Knight’s employer was no secret among the family, and if pleasing his assailant would win him a less painful death-

The knife fell away. “Good,” said the voice, and a figure stepped into view. He was dressed in severe, unornamented black, and it took Malek several moments to recognise Prince Tarvek Sturmvoraus: uncharacteristic clothing aside, the young man’s face was puffy and reddened, his eyes bright with… had he been _crying?_

“I have a task for you,” he continued. “Should you agree, you will leave here alive.”

Malek thought but briefly; an assassin whose target has gotten the drop on them doesn’t have much room for negotiation. “Only if it doesn’t involve murdering my master.”

A thin smile touched Tarvek’s lips, and Malek had the impression that it was the first one the prince had worn in days. “Entirely the opposite.” He reached into his waistcoat, and withdrew a thick envelope. “Give this to Martellus, directly into his hands. Nobody else is to see it.”

Malek took the packet, tucking it inside his shirt almost automatically. “That’s it?”

“No. This is an incinerator.” Tarvek pushed at the contraption, raising the heavy top like the lid of a casket. “When you kill me, leave no trace behind; no blood, nothing. Destroy it all.”

Malek thought he must have misheard. “You _want_ me to kill you, your highness?”

“Yes.” Tarvek’s fist clenched. “I have no power here, no freedom, no channels of communication that will not be intercepted. I am a pawn and a target, and there is no move I can make that will not be countered or turned against me.

“And Anevka is dead.” He gripped the edge of the incinerator, head bowed, clearly fighting to keep back tears. Malek peered past him, and saw the thin, fragile body within.

“I couldn’t save her. She- the clank puppet- doesn’t know. Father hasn’t noticed; I doubt he would even care. He only wanted us for Mother’s bloodline. We meant nothing to him but his ambition.” Tarvek raised his head, and aimed his bloodshot gaze at the Smoke Knight, his voice thrumming with the Spark. “ _I will not be used._ And I will not leave him any chance of recovering it. _Do you understand?_ ”

“Yes, your highness!”

“Good. That’s all.” The prince sagged, then loosened his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the incinerator to climb inside, and laid himself down beside the pallid corpse that had been Anevka.

“Don’t bother with poison. I kept up with my training; it’ll be more protracted and painful than either of us would like.”

Malek considered a moment, then drew his slimmest stiletto. “Try to hold still; it’ll hurt less.”

Tarvek pressed a gentle kiss to his sister’s temple, then rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, Anevka.”

The knife slid in easily. The boy’s body convulsed around the blade; once, twice, and fell still.

Malek withdrew his weapon, cleaned it carefully, and dropped the now-bloodied handkerchief into the incinerator alongside the bodies. He regarded the young prince’s pale countenance sadly. _Such a terrible waste._

And when he left Sturmhalten, the Smoke Knight left nothing behind.

\--⚔--  
  


The letter in the black envelope was bad news. It always was. This one, though, was worse than usual.

Baron Klaus Wulfenbach raised an incredulous eyebrow at the messenger. “ _Both_ of them?” he queried.

Prince Martellus von Blitzengaard nodded uneasily. The Baron made a mental note; it was unusual for any ruler to deliver such news personally, normally a less-important member of the family would be delegated. Perhaps the prince wanted some discreet advice? “Princess Anevka succumbed to illness following an… incident, in Uncle Wilhelm’s laboratory.”

“And Prince Tarvek?”

“Assassinated.”

Klaus rubbed his temple wearily. The Fifty Families were always trying to kill one another for petty reasons, but to murder the son and heir of a ruling prince-

“-on my orders.”

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“I admit responsibility for my cousin’s death, Herr Baron. But there is a reason I am informing you _personally_.”

“Then explain it to me, before I have you _arrested_.” Klaus gave the young prince his most forbidding glare. “Familial disputes or no, this is _murder_.”

“You are aware of what our family is like-”  
  
“A scheming nest of vipers, yes. _Get to the point_.”

“-but you may not be aware of _why_.” Martellus returned the Baron’s gaze steadily. “Please, hear me out, and realise that, in telling you this, I am betraying everyone and everything I know. They will in all probability try to kill me for this." He took a deep breath, and continued: "Our family has been safeguarding the bloodline of Andronicus Valois, plotting to revive the crown and install a new Storm King, for nearly two hundred years. Tarvek was to be the culmination of that. But… Uncle Wil- _Prince Aaronev_ was the head of the Knights of Jove, and he has subverted the Order’s purpose and vows, to serve Lucrezia Mongfish instead. There was nothing any who objected could do; those who argued, or attempted to betray him, were killed or Wasped." He eyed Klaus carefully; the Baron's jaw worked, as if he wanted to interrupt, and his face was starting to turn an interesting shade of red, but he indicated Martellus should continue, so he did. "Yes, it's true: Lucrezia was the Other. And she may yet be again; Aaronev has been attempting to find a way to bring her back ever since she vanished. _None of us_ knew, though, until his experiments gravely injured his daughter. Tarvek found out then, but despite his intended role in the Order's plans, he was a virtual prisoner at Sturmhalten, and had no way to act on his information that would not get him killed, or worse. My cousin had a reputation for being a brilliant schemer, but even he couldn’t work with _nothing_.

“And then his sister died. You can imagine how he felt about that.”

The Baron ran through the implications, and reached the only possible conclusion. "He used your assassin as his messenger."

"Yes; a stroke of genius even by _his_ standards. I may have been his closest rival for the crown, but he believed he could trust me with this, and I _will_ honour his sacrifice."

Klaus nodded in agreement. It made sense: an assassin was already primed to avoid all sorts of obstacles just in the course of carrying out their job; a message would be no additional burden. Speaking of which… “These are extremely grave accusations. You had better be able to prove them.”

The prince pulled out a thick envelope, and laid it on the table. “Here is your evidence. My cousin died to get it to you.”

Klaus accepted the envelope gravely. “The boy was braver than we knew. What a terrible waste…” He drifted off in thought. _He would have been a tremendous asset, and most likely knew more than he thought to write down. If only he had found a way to come to me himself..._

“Ah,” Martellus broke in. “My employee had a similar thought.” The prince reached down, and lifted a heavy canister onto the table. The fine coating of frost on the outside melted where it met the table. “I don’t have the expertise, but perhaps the Great Hospital at Mechanicsburg…?”

A rare smile spread across Klaus’ face as he studied the container. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe I know just the doctor…”

**Author's Note:**

> I have been called out for writing a situation where suicide is "the only right choice", and I need to address this. It was _not_ the only right choice; it was an _in-character_ choice. It was a choice made by a Tarvek who felt he had no options, and has lost the people he loves. There may be other options, or better choices, but he can't see any. Sparks are not entirely sane at the best of times.
> 
> And this is not the best of times.
> 
> The situation Tarvek finds himself in here is identical to what happened in canon: no allies, minimal freedom, and his sister dead from his father's obsession. The only thing that has changed is his reaction to it. He is in a bad situation, a bad place emotionally and mentally ("Suicidal Thoughts" is in the tags for a reason), and was already not entirely stable or sane (raise your hand everyone who forgot that Sparks are by definition not sane), but most importantly he's _not omniscient_.
> 
> Klaus describing Tarvek as brave was him attempting to put a good light on a bad situation, and comfort Martellus somewhat. It was not in any way intended to suggest that Tarvek's suicide was the right choice.


End file.
